​Love is an event of the soul.
It is the interior yearning for the divine.
It is a search for eternity
while traveling through time.
Love is poetic dissonance
Rhythmic unity
Conscious unconsciousness
Obscure clarity
Ordinary madness!
Love is a burning flame
Flickering in the darkness
Casting off shadows
Illuminating again
All that is love.
Collaborative pursuit
Gentle exposure
Ascending higher
Perpetual motion
Forward
Upward
Divine.

South of Tucson, the alluring “White Dove of the Desert” became a spontaneous addition to the itinerary while road-tripping to Texas last July. Although renovation and construction distracted, the beauty of this 18th century mission jewel prevailed. Against the backdrop of the high desert, it is a stunning metaphor and not only because of its white dove-like facade. 

Mission San Xavier del Bac rises up with a message of good-will, hope and faith, even when the surrounding terrain appears desolate. It offers a quiet peace amid challenge. A message of love. A weathered resilience. A piercing intensity.

One cannot help but draw a parallel to the good-will, hope and faith of Christmas which by God’s grace rekindles every year, and permeates throughout a fraught world.

A trio of mission bells atop the adjacent chapel easily prompts an imaginary peal, echoing gently, softly, loudly, stirring minds and souls. And Christmas bells, as Longfellow’s poem suggests, do the same, ringing in new hope for peace and good-will. 

May the marvelous sounds of Christmas bells and all their hope and possibilities be yours. 

In a noisy world I often pursue a bit of silence. That’s what I say anyway, inside my head, that silence will be the answer. Yes, an absence of noise will be the answer.

As I contemplate silence, however, I revel at the fact that I am hard-pressed to find pure silence. Some level of noise exists almost always.

Thomas Moore writes of cultivating silence by “turning up the volume on the music of the world and soul.”

I think of this as listening for other ever-present sounds that usually get drowned out by the more prominent, sometimes daunting demands on our ears, brains, and being.

In a noisy world, am I really yearning to pursue the barely audible? To give voice or volume to all the inobtrusive or subdued notes, rhythms and crescendos that possess unrealized powers?

​If I listen and cultivate this subtle silence, I imagine a new profound ability to ward off all that seems contrary.

Silence isn’t silent at all.  It’s simply an invitation to hear and love more deeply.

I value all kinds of friendships. I recognize that there are several degrees of friendship from the casual friend who is a neighbor or maybe a workmate, to the closer and more personal friend who brings you joy simply by knowing him or her. And, of course, many friends are “in-between” for any number of reasons.

I place a premium on friendship. It is more than an acquaintance, and we have lots of acquaintances.  Friendship cannot be a meaningless word that is misused, diluted or feigned. For example, “social media” has watered down the true essence of friendship potentially by creating intangible friendships with people we may never really know.  It quantified friendship making it cool to have some absurd number of connections and call them “friends.” I take issue with that because it can be a dangerous façade, and it can lead people down an unsuspecting path where they don’t even know what to look for in a true friend.

I do realize social media has grown and changed over the years, and various platforms enhance certain types of relationships (i.e., business marketing, information exchange, career enhancement).  I think that’s fine.

The more I value a friend may mean that a person possesses more of the traits that I consider incumbent of great friends. My spectrum looks like this:
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Kind-hearted, Respectful, Harmonious, Ego-in-Check, Listener, Sharer, Carer

Friendship is hugely multi-dimensional! These seven attributes are important to me because I found that they lead to lasting and enduring friendships. I have a handful of friends who bundle all these traits into their being. They are friends for life. We pick up where we left off. We don’t have to gab on the phone for hours, or even visit often. We understand each other and forgive each other, naturally. We enjoy each others’ company. We laugh.

​I also have a lot of friends with all these traits and I love them dearly, but we may not be as close. Time, commitments and life dictate one’s availability to foster and nurture every friend to the same extent. But I am happy to share a bond with them and call them my friends.  I hope they consider me the same.

I think of “inspiration” as positive energy or experience – finding something which can motivate one’s soul into action, creativity, sharing or meaningful encounters. Whether preparing a new recipe, writing a note on someone’s birthday card, participating in a meeting, or choosing a shirt to wear, I reach down into my heart every day hoping to find a little inspiration to fuel my routine. Doesn’t everyone?

But what happens when inspiration is hard to find? When the mystique of daily life seems hidden behind the clouds and a pall of terror hangs in the air? Or when the plight of many shakes us to the core as people – neighbors – endure violence and disaster, both natural and man-made? I don’t know about you, but my very worn, go-to black clothing speaks subliminal volumes as I muster a smile to disguise my perpetual mourning in a chaotic, often distressing world.

Solidarity. Prayer. Charity. I wonder if inspiration can be found in these natural human responses.

I think so. When we step out beyond ourselves, the chemistry of inspiration tends to flow wildly downriver, encouraging us and those around us.

Pope Francis used a phrase that I like – a revolution of tenderness. (Evangelii Gaudium 2013)

It is inspiring, isn’t it? Well, I suppose there can be all kinds of interpretations, but I view it as a call to transform our hearts – to think with our hearts, and love with our brains.
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Notice my more positive view of the noun “revolution.”  Sure, the list of synonyms for revolution threatens any sense of peace but because revolution is paired here with tenderness, I think it’s a signal to stir a revolution in one’s own heart, accepting a challenge to find a little love and let it inspire you. Then, mystique returns.

Lazy days have eluded me most of my life. Only recently have I discovered what it means to wake up now and then and realize, “I have no plans, no commitments and nothing that I really HAVE to do.”

At first, it scared me.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  For years, I dreamed of such luxury and I wanted nothing more than time to pursue all the things that I never had time to do. 

Or perhaps, time to do nothing. Take a nap. Sit in a chaise lounge in the warmth of the sun, poolside. Enjoy a warm fire. Rest. These idle moments rejuvenate mind, body and soul.

I do know that, for me, too many lazy days in a row can be habit-forming.  I must spread out the joy of laziness — recreation (I like that word better) — into reasonable intervals so that the days I re-create remain a rationed, intentional, cherished experience. Otherwise, if my days become defined by laziness and sloth, surely I miss out on all that life offers. More important, I miss out on what I can offer life... what I am meant to offer life.

​​A brief quote bears great possibility for inspiring the mind. Whether famous or not-so-famous, the often concise yet profound words of others catapult thoughts in new directions.

Take this one from JFK’s 1961 inaugural address: “Every accomplishment begins with a decision to try.”

At first read, I studied the idea of “accomplishment,” wondering if it meant heroic achievement. I settled more comfortably on something more quotidian choosing to believe that accomplishment can be as simple as the decisions we make to move us through time and space.

Ah. Then, in my quote dissection, I see JFK is way ahead of me. He clearly states that the origin of accomplishment begins with a decision. More specifically, a decision to try.

​This sparked in me a deeply held conviction that trying is an attitude, or a spirit.  If I try, I’ve already done far more than had I done nothing. I’ve acquired more information and greater perspective. Possibly improved understanding.

Without a give-it-a-try spirit, I invite defeat.

Whether JFK meant it this way or not, I read his words today – 60 years later – and interpret them as a message to humanity. We must embrace our humanness and try with all humility to improve ourselves and our world. More important, I think the essence of trying is perfected when done with an outward focus – working for others and being better for others.

​The risk of defeat at the expense of others is too much. I must try.

I use a lot of colorful sticky notes to remind me of things I need to do. Or to present someone’s brilliant quote. Or to display a key word or number. It seems almost like an affliction for me, relying on these little missives to spark action within me.

On second thought, maybe I should not relegate these little memory cues to an unfortunate condition. I find them encouraging, motivating and inspiring. Not in the same affecting way that photographs, scents, comforts and experiences move me, but in a manner of prompting knowledge and will into service.

Yes, accessing my “memory bank” occurs constantly, routinely and surreptitiously. And I realize it is “there” in that place where creativity blooms like stunning blue forget-me-nots in a secret garden.

​Augustine wrote of “mansions of memory” and images in our minds that we may magnify, diminish or alter based on the information our senses report. He wrote of “sojourning there” to his memory and commanding certain “things” to emerge from remote crannies – sometimes easily and sometimes not. He marveled at the faculty of memory, its infinite complexity and awesome mystery – a gift from God.

​In remembering, I think we ascend to God, recounting our journey, our missteps and progress, transforming these mind-messages into the present moment. Surely memories of our life and experiences conjure our senses for a reason?

Whether obtrusive little squares of paper adhering to my monitor, photos from last year’s vacation, or special family mementos, all these memories infuse me, once again, with what I saw, heard, tasted, smelled or touched.

If for no other reason, sojourning in my memory mansion sparks awareness, reflection, creativity and love.

Looking at the origin and history of words can be a fascinating way to ponder reality. Do the words we choose and use represent what we really want to convey?  Of course, language evolves and often it seems like words fly out of mouths, or flow as fast as letters are typed on a keyboard without much thought to their effect – or the lasting digital imprint.

There is always much ado about content! People desire to be heard, get a point across, and promote new messages, but quite possibly at the expense of context.

Even though I know the meaning of both words – content and context – I looked them up. I learned their Latin origins and found new insight.

Content comes from contentum which means “things contained.” Context comes con (together) and texere (to weave).

This is where pondering reality comes in.

It can be easy to miss the mark in providing excellent context. I know in casual conversation and in writing, I can forget to frame content with consideration for heart and soul. Now, I have a renewed since of mission on this. What a little etymology can do. I want my “things contained” to be woven together honoring the intrinsic values that are necessary for meaningful interpretation.

Context powers understanding.

All this makes me think of a St. Francis of Assisi quote who yearned to bring context — if not purpose – to the work of fellow friars in the 13th century. He said, “We have been called to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring home those who have lost their way.”
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Words, too, can heal, unite and bring home those who have lost their way. Good context offers a bigger picture.

As a little girl, I was a "doodler." Not an "in the margins" doodler, but one who would take a sheet of paper and a dozen colored felt pens to create a colorful maze of lines and dots and curves and circles, zig zags and arcs. Why, I did this, I have no idea other than I found it fun. I enjoyed building the design, adding color and "seeing" where to go. 

Interestingly, none of this "art" remains.  It must have been tossed away.

In hindsight, a lot remains. I think those doodling days conveyed purpose to my brain. My young brain was recognizing and enjoying how to put elements in order. The intricate work of piecing together all the doodles to form a whole picture allowed me a very gratifying creative process.  

When someone says, "I'm not very creative," I wonder if they are overlooking something... something they did, or have always done that marked the beginnings of their hidden or unrecognized creativity. 

I think creativity lives in all of us but simply manifests differently.  It's clear when we consider the arts but when we think about imagination -- stringing together symbols, words, elements, materials and ideas -- we begin to see the creativity in everything.

We doodle along marvelously.